Quiet
by rrdt
Summary: They never talked about it. Sam wanted to scream. Instead, he tried to make conversation.


**Author's Notes: **I wrote this before Season 3 was aired. Let's just assume that this happened post-All Hell Breaks Loose and pre-Season 3. _Italics_ means either character thoughts, or emphasized words. Many thanks (and virtual hugs and kisses!) to all who will read, and read and review.

**Warning:** PG for swearing.

**Disclaimer**: The TV Series Supernatural, and all the characters appearing in this fic belongs to WB and Eric Kripke.

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**Quiet**

They never talked about it.

Instead, they drove on and on, along endless roads, in silence. As if the distance and the quiet will somehow erase the events of the past days. As if avoiding the issue altogether will somehow make it seem as if it never happened.

Dean Winchester was never a quiet man. He had moments of silence, but he rarely gave in to that void, that quiet, unless it was absolutely necessary. And even then, he could only keep his mouth shut for just a second. He is loud and blunt. He is never quiet.

Until now.

It bothered Sam Winchester more than he could take.

He was supposed to be the quiet one. Dean – he's not given to brooding. He was very vocal. He isn't now. Sam wanted to scream. Instead, he tried to make conversation. Anything to get rid of the deafening silence.

And, they needed to talk about it, one way or another, whether Dean liked it or not.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"We need to talk."

"Uh-huh."

"We need to have a serious talk."

"Then start talking."

But Dean never took his eyes off the road. Never even glanced at the man seating beside him in the passenger seat to acknowledge his existence.

Sam sighed in frustration. He can't take anymore of this. There's just so many things he wanted to say and needed to hear, and this barrier of quiet just have to go.

"Would you please just…just go park somewhere, and talk. God, just talk about it Dean – let's talk about it. I can't take this silent act of yours."

Dean never did parked somewhere, but he did began to talk.

"What, you came back from the dead and now you're my fucking girlfriend? You want to talk? Fine, let's talk."

And although Dean's expression never reeked of it, his voice was dripping with sarcasm, and something else entirely. Misery? Sam wasn't sure; Dean can be a frigging robot when he wants to be, and it was always hard to figure out exactly what he's thinking – feeling – most of the time.

Dean continued to drive, still looking straight ahead, face as expressionless as stone, even as he asked, "What do you want to hear? Ask away, brother dear."

There were a lot of questions Sam wanted to ask. A lot of things he wanted to know. And he hated the fact that a single word encapsulated everything. He hated that every experience he had in his life was reduced to a single word. Hated it, and yet it was the only thing he could think of to ask to make sense of things, if things in their lives at this point even made sense at all. He'd been asking it then, and he asked it now.

"Why?"

Figures. Of all the questions to ask, of all the things they could talk about, they always come back to the one question Dean never really had an answer to. _Why did mom die? Why did dad die? Why didn't you let Sam die? Why us? Why, why, why?_

Dean laughed, but it was a mirthless, hollow laugh.

"Who do you think I am, Sammy? God?"

An entire moment passed without the two of them saying anything once more. There was something in the air about them, something along the borderlines of frustration, of anger, of grief. The quiet choked Sam, and he wished he had a way with words so they didn't have to go on this trip with nothing but silence as company. He wished it was easy to talk to Dean. He wished everything was easy – but he had learned early on that in their life, nothing is easy. Even conversations.

But Sam needed to know one thing. One thing. And even if it started with his least favorite word, he would ask it, say it, because the answer was more important to him than anything in the world right now. And he wanted to let his feelings out. Needed to let his feelings out.

"Why did you do it, Dean?"

A sigh from the other man, audible enough to be heard. Dean knew from the start that their little tete-a-tete was going to end up here. But he wasn't too keen on explaining his actions. He wasn't too keen on explaining himself. For him, it wasn't a valid question anyway. You don't need reasons to do what you can for someone you value and care so much for – you don't ask why. You never ask why. End of conversation. But Sam is Sam, and he's always been the type who had a lot of things to ask, who looked for explanations in the completely unexplainable.

"You don't run out of questions, do you?" Dean began. He briefly placed a hand on his temple, to ward of the growing tension that seemed to be building up inside the Impala, and inside him. Sam and his questions – utterly personal, sometimes irrelevant, and most of the time part existential bull – always get to him. He sighed again before he continued. "Think of it this way: Would you have done what I did if it was me dead in your arms?"

Sam thought of the time his older brother was dying, and his determination to bring Dean back, no matter what. There was no hesitation. "Yes."

"Then there's your answer."

Another turn in the road ahead, another pause. The quiet was coming back.

But then, the silence was broken.

"You should have left things as they were, should have left me…it would have been over. It could have been over right then and there, and I would be…I would be with mom. Dad. Jess. I never obliged you to save me, but you just had to go and do it! You didn't even think about whether _I wanted to be saved_!"

Sam knew there was no taking back what he had said. He knew he shouldn't have said anything at all. But he wanted to let his feelings be known. He wanted…God, he didn't know what he wanted other than he wanted all of this to be over. He placed a hand in his temple, and taking a deep, calming breath, asked himself why he ever brought the topic up.

"Look. Just forget what I said. Just – "

But it was too late now. He had said what he wanted to say, and the quiet was broken.

"Just shut up, Sam. Just shut the fuck up."

Sam glanced at his brother, and realized that, finally, the older man had stopped driving, parked near the side of the road, and was facing him, all pretenses forgotten. And, it seems he had gotten that little talk he wanted, for Dean began to speak, but it was in a calm, cold voice.

"Is this how you express your gratitude? By engaging me in a screaming match? You're a selfish little brat, you know that? You wouldn't understand why I did what I did. You only care about what you want, what you need to do, what you think you're meant to do. Did you ever really thought of Dad? Of mom? Of Jess? Did you ever thought of me? Did you ever thought about what I want? Did you ever thought about how it feels, to know that you've failed to protect the one person most important to you, that one last _living_ person remaining in your life? Did you ever thought of the pain, of the grief, of the anguish, it caused me to see my little brother broken and bloody in my arms?!"

A pause, wherein Dean cradled his head in his hands, and for a moment, closed his eyes. A moment of vulnerability, rarely seen, especially not in the presence of Sam. Never in the presence of Sam.

"Dean, I – " the younger man started, but found himself at a loss for words. He didn't knew …he just didn't knew. Finally, he settled on what he thought was the best thing to say, the only words he could think of to say. "I'm sorry." He looked away, and resumed gazing at the world outside his side of the car window. He never noticed the man on the other seat sigh as he pulled himself back together. Never noticed as Dean turned on the engine once again.

They leave the side of the road. They drive.

The quiet settles in.  
This time, Sam let it.  
They never talked about it again.

_-Fin-_


End file.
